Still Old Habits Die Hard
by yas-m
Summary: "You still like... milk and two sugars?" he asks but he already knows the answer people rarely change the way they take their coffee . / The morning after in 316, Jack asks a simple question. / An angsty short one shot.


This little plot bunny came to at 4.45 this morning and refused to go away until I played with it a little bit. Sure, I am terribly sleepy, but I hope it was worth.

This is set the morning after in** 316 **when Jack asks Kate about her coffee. It's a little drabble because I miss them oh so painfully.

* * *

**Still**

_You still like... milk and two sugars?_ - he asks but he already knows the answer (people rarely change the way they take their coffee).

He asks but he already knows the answer (the way she takes her coffee is one of the many things - _some more intimate some less so_ - that he learned and memorized about her in the time they spent together.

_You __**still**__ like... milk and two sugars?_ - he asks and it's a subtle reminder (albeit unintentional) that _**this **_is what they did every morning for a very long time.

_You still like... __**milk and two sugars**__?_ - he asks because he knows he no longer has the right to know these things about her (he fucked up royally and trivia like this about a person is earned).

_You still like... milk and two sugars?_ - he asks, pretending he doesn't know how she likes her coffee.

He asks out of courtesy (but he knows, boy does he know - and he proved it all night long. With her sweaty writhing body beneath his, his fingers traced the paths he has committed to memory. His tongue, it did things, it went places that only he knew about).

Coffee has always been his thing. He is the coffee addict (she likes her morning cup of joe as much as the next person) - but she never craved it like he did (she always craved something else, someone else).

_She loves the taste of coffee in his mouth though when her tongue sneaks into his mouth, leaving him breathless._

Before he moved in, the coffee machine spent most of the time in the cupboard (collecting dust like all things hidden do). She joked that she did not even know why she bought it (she lied though _- she knew_).

For the same reason she bought a house too big for her and an infant (and a king size bed) _- she bought it because she always bought things for __**them**__. Together._

She always believed in _them_.

She believes in them.

She - _**still**_ - believes in them.

She still does a lot of what she used to do - _she believes he has moved on, forgotten and let go_ - she just cannot seem to move on, forget and let go.

(Jack Shephard has not moved on. Jack Shephard has not forgotten. _Jack Shephard cannot let go_).

He still hangs on (to every memory, every touch, every smell, every taste, every word) and it kills him that he cannot experience them again (_and again and again_) - but he screwed up, it's all on him, all of it.

He knows she prefers the left side of the bed (it was where he sat when he woke her up to propose to her). His hands were sweaty, his heart beat racing, and his voice cracked (but she said _- she fucking said yes_).

She _does_ prefer the left side - but it's not where she sleeps anymore (not since that night) _not since he left._

She now sleeps on the right side of the bed _- she now sleeps on his side of the bed._

She curls up and hugs the pillow - _his pillow _- as tight as she can (if she focuses she can still distinguish his scent, wrapped around the pillow, wrapping around her). It is as close as having _**his arms**_ wrapped around her.

_Close_ but not the same. A scent (a _phantom_ scent because she has since washed the pillow case numerous times) can never replace the real thing - not his real scent (after shave, coffee and _Jack_), not the strong and safe hold of his arms, not the solidity of his chest, not the rhythm of heartbeat, not the warmth of his breath.

And definitely not the tantalizing feeling of his lips against her bare shoulder, traveling slowly, teasingly towards that secret spot behind her ear - _it wasn't a secret to him though _(he had long learned every secret she had ever kept, she was an open book to him).

He knows she likes to wear dress shirts - _his_ dress shirts (_and he likes it too_).

He likes how the large shirt drapes over her petit frame (he especially likes when she rises on her tip toes to reach a high cupboard an the shirt rises just enough to reveal that _delicious curves_ at top of her thighs).

She still wears his shirts - he never came over to pick his things up (she never packed them up in a box or call him to come take them).

She _**still**_ wears _his_ shirts - they smell of him (they _still_ smell of him) - _they are all she has left of him. _

She wears them around the house (all the time around the house) - and swallows back the tears when Aaron casually mentions Jack when he sees it on her.

He knows she has _nightmares_ (he has nightmares too).

She _**still**_ has nightmares (they all do, she assumes).

Her nightmares aren't what is expected (_are they ever?_) - they are not about losing Aaron or going to prison (she's already been through worse than a 6x6 concrete cell).

_Her nightmares are about __**losing**__ him_.

Her nightmares are _**still**_ about losing _him _(she doesn't believe she has lost him yet)

She _**still**_ _believes_ in them - this, what they are now, is not them being over (she always reminds herself).

They never officially broke up - his stuff is still in her house and _she still has the key to his apartment_ (and she still wears the ring around her finger - but not when she goes to see him).

She _**still**_ has her _pride_.

But nonetheless she _**still**_ fears losing him (not breaking up or moving on).

Each night the visions that have her waking up with a sob - _every single night_ - are images of him being taken away forcefully - _**violently**_.

It's dark and gloomy. It's raining.

It's on the _island_.

_**It's still the island. **_

The smoke monster pulls him away - _away from her_ - and he is sent into a long deep hole.

Dark. Dark, dark endless tunnel into the ground.

She tries to pull him up but she is not _strong_ enough (_she is never strong enough_) - and he falls (_he always falls_).

She can't _save_ him (she can never save him).

He is the one who always saves her - _**still**_ _saves_ her.

Jack would disagree with her if she ever told him that (she would never tell him that).

Jack would disagree with her because it is _she_ who _saved_ him - who saves him in every way that a person can save another (_he has never saved anyone_).

She teased him once (well not just once) - about him being their _savior_.

She called him _Superman_ (and in many ways he was) - but that only made his head drop, his eyes grow dark and his shoulders to fall (_I am not a hero - _he whispered in pain).

_You still like... milk and two sugars?_ - his question is ridiculously innocent - but what she hears _breaks her heart_.

She wonders if he has already _forgotten_. If he really does not _remember_ the way she likes her coffee.

What else has he forgotten? (is she that easily forgotten to him?)

She _**still**_ remembers everything.

_**You still like... milk and two sugars?**_

He asks sweetly - softly (but he doesn't really wait for an answer)

_I __**still**__ love you_ - she thinks to herself.

But she keeps her lips tightly sealed (she does not _trust_ the words not to escape her lips).

She _**still**_ _loves_ him (still _madly in love_ with him).

He _**still**__ loves_ her (he still loves her _too_).

_They are **still** in love. _

_They are **still** damaged. _

_Damaged goods. Both of them. _

**Still**.


End file.
